


The Holiday Ficathon Job

by aces



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2020-10-05 06:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: Written in approximately one hour on a plane, this is probably both wildly OOC and wildly inaccurate.  Happy holidays, anyway!  *big, cheesy grin*





	The Holiday Ficathon Job

**Author's Note:**

> Written in approximately one hour on a plane, this is probably both wildly OOC and wildly inaccurate. Happy holidays, anyway! *big, cheesy grin*

“Hardison, I need you to--” Nate slowed to a stop at the bottom of his spiral staircase, looking around the room, nonplussed. “Where’s Hardison?”

“It’s Christmas, Nate,” Sophie said, curled up on the sofa and flipping idly through a shoe catalog. “Perhaps he’s with family?”

“Maybe he has other friends,” Eliot added from the kitchen where he was chopping and stir-frying vegetables. “You ever remember we’re more than just your crew, Nate?”

“Then what are you all doing here?” Nate asked blankly.

Sophie and Eliot both stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

“He always disappears at Christmas,” Parker said from her perch on the windowsill, where was eating a bowl of cereal. “Haven’t you guys noticed?”

“What do you mean, always disappears at Christmas?” Nate finished walking down the stairs and joined Sophie on the couch; she obligingly moved her legs to give him space.

“Every year, Christmas morning, he holes up somewhere for a few days,” Parker said nonchalantly. “You can’t find him. I’ve tried.”

“Why?” Sophie asked curiously.

“I wanted to steal him,” Parker explained. Sophie blinked. Nate blinked. Eliot rolled his eyes.

“You don’t steal people, Parker,” Eliot told her.

“If they’re trying to hide, you do,” Parker said, as if that were the most reasonable answer in the world.

Nate shook his head. “Christmas day and a few days after,” he said musingly. “I wonder what he’s up to?”

“Sure as hell not watching the game,” Eliot snorted, resuming his vegetable chopping.

“I think we should find him,” Nate said.

“Goody!” Parker sat up and dropped her nearly-empty bow of cereal on the nearby table with a thump.

“Nate,” Sophie said, “why on earth should we do that? If Hardison wants to spend the holiday by himself, that’s his prerogative.”

"It's a challenge," Nate shrugged.

Parker plopped onto the couch between Sophie and Nate, both of them hurriedly moving out of her way. "Do we break into his house and look for clues?"

"What are we, Scooby Doo and the gang?" Eliot grumbled from the kitchen. "It's Hardison, he's not going to leave physical clues about his movements, he's going to leave digital ones."

Nate walked over to the laptop sitting on the dining table and popped it open. He logged in. "He's going to stay at a hotel," he murmured out loud.

"THe fanciest hotel in town," Sophie added.

"And for free," Eliot went on, wiping his hands down and joining Nate at the computer.

"Penthouse suite," Sophie concluded. "He'll make it available for himself if it isn't already."

"That narrows our options," Nate said. He listed a handful of hotels, Sophie instantly picked her favorite. "What name would he be under?"

"Luke Skywalker," said Parker.

"Mr. Smith," said Eliot.

"Steel," said Sophie, with a smirk.

Nate shut the laptop and stood up. "William Hartnell," he said with finality and walked out of his apartment.

*

They found William Hartnell at the Boston Harbor Hotel. Sophie and Eliot stole room service uniforms and a cart, Parker rappelled over the side of the building, and Nate simply talked the staff into giving him an elevator key that would provide acess to the top floor. They congregated outside the room door and listened.

Hardison was laughing, muttering to himself, yelling--nothing so unusual. None of them understood what he was saying--also not unusual.

"Fantastic pacing, great dialogue--Sapphire would _totally_ have said that!" he said. And a few minutes later, "Aww, no, you can't do that to Hannibal Sefton! That just ain't right!" And a few minutes after that, "Menchi did _not_ deserve that, dude. No way in hell did Menchi deserve that."

"The hell," Eliot growled and pounded down the door. There was a startled silence on the other side.

"Uh," Hardison said cautiously at last, his voice suddenly nearer, "I didn't order room service yet?"

"Dammit, Hardison!" Eliot said.

"Oh hell no," said Hardison. "Seriously? You guys? _Seriously_? Oh _hell no_."

"Open the door, Hardison," Sophie commanded. "This bloody uniform itches."

The door inched open a crack, and Parker pushed it open further. She bounced into the suite and wrapped herself around Hardison as happily as if he were made of money. "Surprise!" she said. "We're stealing you!"

Hardison blinked, then looked at the rest of the crew. "I'm not even going to ask," he said. "What are you guys _doing_ here?"

"We were curious," Nate said, walking over to Hardison's laptop while Sophie sprawled on the couch, Eliot went to check out the bathroom, and Parker continued to hold Hardison essentially captive. Hardison swiveled them both around, trying to watch what everyone was doing in his fancy hotel suite.

"Yuletide?" Nate read from the monitor blankly. "What's an archive of our own?"

"Guys?" Hardison said plaintively. "Why are you _here_?"

"You disappear every Christmas," Parker explained reasonably.

"I was bored," Sophie volunteered. "This sofa is *so* much better than yours, Nate."

"Nobody was going to eat the stir fry anyway, shoulda just ordered a damn pizza for you heathens," Eliot said, emerging from the bathroom. "I took your complimentary shampoo and conditioner, Hardison; this is the good stuff."

"Yuletide," Nate repeated. "Hardison, is this fanfiction?"

"Oh my *god*," Hardison groaned. "OM-fricking-G. This is why I disappear every Christmas, people. You would never understand."

"Try us," Nate said.

"Yuletide is an annual Christmas exchange in rare fandoms," Hardison explained rapidly, "little fandoms that don't get a whole lot of love and attention the rest of the year and have very little fic written in them. Books, old TV shows, really obscure stuff. It's huge, couple thousand people or so participate every year, it gets bigger every year, and it's people writing stories for each other. I try to read them all--*all*--before the reveal."

"Reveal," Nate repeated, sitting back and folding his arms as he contemplated Hardison.

Hardison rolled his eyes. "It's an anonymous exchange," he said. "Nobody knows who wrote what until New Year's Day."

"Ah-ha," Parker crowed. "That's why you hide this week!" She paused and then wrinkled her nose. "I don't get it."

"None of us do, Parker," Eliot said, raiding the mini-fridge. "It's a stupid geek thing."

"Hey now!" Hardison maneuvered Parker and himself around to face Eliot. "No mocking Yuletide, Eliot. This fic exchange is the spirit of the holiday season encased in one beautiful fannish endeavor! Where else can you read modern Shakespearean sonnets, stories about lolcats, and where the hell else am I going to get my 'Saved by the Bell' fix in this day and age?"

There was a collective pause. Hardison took the moment to catch his breath.

"Okay," Nate said, standing up. "We'll leave you to it."

"Oh, must we?" Sophie said; she'd almost fallen asleep. "I really like this couch."

"C'mon, Eliot, Sophie, Parker," Nate said, heading for the door. "We found out what we wanted to know, we can go now."

"I'm not done stealing Hardison," Parker objected, squeezing the hacker a little tighter.

"Parker! What the hell you need to steal me for, woman?"

"Can you steal him quietly so he can keep reading?" Nate paused, inspecting the pair of them.

Parker shrugged. "I just want to get into the mini-bar," she said.

"I took the mixed nuts; I can use them in a recipe," Eliot said.

"That's cool," Parker replied and released Hardison. Hardison remained standing there, gaping.

"Have fun, you two," Nate said, opening the front door to the suite.

"Enjoy the sofa," Sophie said, wistfully, as she followed Nate out.

"Don't do anything I wouldn--on second thought, never mind," Eliot said and slammed the door shut behind him.

Hardison turned to where Parker was now raiding the mini-fridge. She'd discovered the chocolate already. She looked up at Hardison with a wide grin.

"I am so not getting anymore Yuletide reading done, am I," he sighed, but he was smiling.

END

**Author's Note:**

> A/N, part 2: Hardison totally has a complex system for reading, by the way, involving length of story, fandom obscurity and likelihood it will get comments, and other such factors. He may not write for it <s>anymore</s>, but he totally loves Yuletide.


End file.
